Devil in Dress Blues

by Karen Foley

  But this…

  Never in a million years would he have thought a woman like Sara Sinclair would be capable of selling her body, of engaging in sex with complete strangers for money. Reluctantly, he picked up the little book again and reread several of the sordid entries. He closed his eyes against the unwelcome images that swam through his mind, but all he could picture was Sara—sweet, clean, wholesome Sara—with some sweating, panting animal on top of her, subjecting her to whatever deviant sexual desires he had. The bleakness of it made him feel ill. Curling his hand around the book, he struggled to control his rising anger, when all he really wanted to do was to destroy something, to lash out and smash something.

  Anything.

  He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt such impotent rage. Sucking in a deep breath, Rafe forced himself to relax and think logically. He couldn’t let emotions rule his actions. As the red haze began to subside and he considered what he had seen, doubt began to replace his anger. There was something about the book that didn’t seem right, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. Turning back to her pocketbook, he began digging through it once more, looking for the notepad she’d used during their interview.

  “What are you doing?”

  He whirled from the counter to see Sara standing several feet away. Her wet hair hung over her shoulders and she’d scrubbed her face clean of all cosmetics. She’d changed into a pair of jeans and a green pullover sweater, and she looked absurdly young. She was staring at him now with a mixture of confusion and dawning horror, and Rafe knew how it must look. He had one hand inside her open purse, and half of the contents were still on the counter. Worse, he had the little black planner clutched in his other hand. So much for covert operations.

  “Oh, my God,” she breathed.

  She darted forward and tried to snatch the book from him, but he held it out of reach.

  “How dare you?” she demanded, her voice low and furious. “How dare you go through my personal things? What gives you the right?”

  “How about you telling me what the hell this is all about?” he asked grimly, indicating the planner. “Jesus, Sara! Please say that this is a joke.”

  “No,” she bit out. “It’s not a joke.”

  This time, when she reached up for the book, he let her take it. He watched as she scooped up her belongings and shoved them back in her pocketbook. Then, throwing him a level, hostile look, she marched back up the stairs and he heard the door to her room close with a decisive click.

  “Goddamn.” He scrubbed a hand over his face and debated between going after her or giving her some time to cool off. But he was unprepared when she came back down the stairs wearing her jacket and carrying her overnight bag and laptop case. She cast him one defiant glare before stalking past him.

  “Whoa,” he said and caught her by the arm, halting her progress. “What’s going on? Where are you going?”

  She stared pointedly at his hand on her arm. “Let go of me. I can’t stay here with you. Not for a week. Not for another minute.”

  “Why?” he demanded. “Because I discovered your secret?”

  She looked at him, then, her eyes flashing. “You went through my purse. Why would you do that?”

  “Because I knew you were hiding something.” He nodded toward her handbag. “And I was right.”

  “I’m not hiding anything.”

  “Oh no? How do you explain what’s in that book?”

  She was silent for a moment, and he could see her struggling to form a response.

  “What’s the matter?” he asked softly. “Cat got your tongue? Or did you forget that you have an appointment tonight?” He squinted and pretended to think. “Let’s see…is it with the guy who likes it rough, or the one who likes to do it doggy-style while feeding you caviar? Is that how you met your ‘reliable source’? You know, the one who told you I was involved in the rescue of the aid workers?”

  “What?” She stared at him, her expression bemused. “You think…oh, my God.”

  To his astonishment, she started to laugh and then immediately clapped a hand over her mouth.

  “What’s so funny?” he growled. “I don’t think there’s anything particularly amusing about high-risk sex.”

  He watched as warm color seeped up her neck and into her face. “You actually think that I’m capable of doing the things written in that book?” she finally asked. “I don’t know whether to be flattered or insulted.”

  “Trust me, I didn’t mean it as a compliment. But the reality is, I don’t know what you’re capable of.”

  “Not that!” she exclaimed, and set her bags on the floor. “Rafe, the planner doesn’t belong to me. I didn’t write those entries, and I would never do those things.” A smile quirked one corner of her mouth. “At least, not with just anyone.”

  Rafe’s body responded instantly to the images her words conjured up—Sara, doing those things with him. Driving him crazy. Making him lose control.

  Pushing the erotic visions aside, he realized it was the first time she’d addressed him as anything other than Sergeant Delgado, and he wished he didn’t like the way his name sounded coming from her mouth so much.

  “So if the book doesn’t belong to you, then why do you have it?” he asked brusquely.

  She studied him for a moment, obviously debating whether to trust him. Finally, she walked over to the kitchen island and opened her handbag, pulling the little black book out and laying it on the counter. “I only know that it belongs to a woman named Colette. I gave her a ride home after the charity ball the other night, and she must have dropped this when she was getting out of my car. But until that night, I’d never seen her before.”

  Rafe came to stand beside her. The top of her head came to his chin, and he could smell the ginger-honey scent of her shampoo. Her hair was beginning to dry in soft, curling tendrils around her shoulders, and he had to fight the urge to pick up a strand and rub it between his fingers.

  “May I?” he asked, indicating the small notepad that rested inside her purse.

  She handed it to him, and he opened it to where she had taken notes during their brief interview. Opening the little black book, he placed them side by side on the counter. Whereas Sara’s writing was neat and elegant, the entries in the planner were written in a loopy scrawl and embellished with smiley faces and hearts.

  “Definitely not the same writing,” he mused.

  She gave him a tolerant look. “As I said, the book doesn’t belong to me.”

  “So who is this Colette, and how did you end up giving her a ride home? Was she at the charity ball? Did her, uh, escort ditch her?”

  “Not exactly,” Sara hedged. She indicated the three pizza boxes stacked on the counter and an amused smile touched her mouth. “Are you expecting company?”

  “No, but I wasn’t sure what kind of pizza you like, so I got a variety.” He leaned against the counter and crossed his arms. “You’re not going to change the subject, Sara. How did Colette end up in your car?”

  Without looking at him, Sara opened each of the boxes, finally settling on the veggie pizza. He watched as she pulled a warm slice free and took a delicate bite from the end.

  “Mmm,” she exclaimed, closing her eyes briefly in appreciation. “Delicious. I can’t remember the last time I had pizza this good.”

  Rafe watched as she caught a trace of errant sauce on her lips with the pink tip of her tongue. His body stirred in reaction.

  “I’m waiting,” he said, his voice rougher than he’d intended.

  She swiped her mouth with her fingertips and looked at him. “Okay, fine. But you need to promise me that the information I’m about to tell you goes no farther than this room. Promise.”

  Rafe didn’t like making promises when he had no idea what he was committing to, but he nodded curtly. “I promise.”

  Sara reluctantly set the slice of pizza down. “I was driving home on the night of the charity ball and got behind an expensive little sports car out
on Post Road.”

  Rafe watched in fascination as warm color seeped into her face, and for a moment he didn’t think she would continue. “And…?” he prodded.

  “And it was pretty obvious what was going on in the car while they were driving.”

  “Can you be more specific?” Rafe asked.

  She gestured vaguely. “You know…her mouth was on him.”

  “She was kissing him?” he asked helpfully.

  Sara gave him a baleful look. “Are you really going to make me spell it out for you? Yes, she was kissing him, in a manner of speaking. But not on his lips, if you know what I mean.”

  “Ah…” Rafe found her obvious discomfort both amusing and endearing. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen a woman blush.

  “Okay, so what else? You followed them?”

  “Yes. Their car crashed into a tree and I stopped to see if I could help. But then I realized who was driving, and I wished that I hadn’t stopped. And this is where your promise to keep this information confidential comes in.”

  “I already gave you my word.”

  There was a momentary pause. “The driver was Edwin Zachary.”

  For the second time in less than hour, Rafe discovered that he could still be shocked. Zachary’s name was the last one he’d expected to hear. While there were plenty of politicians involved in sleazy backroom deals and sexual scandals, Edwin Zachary had always seemed to be above that. He and his wife were cornerstones of Washington, D.C. society, and Zachary was known for his firm sense of ethics. He was also rumored to be a strong contender for the next presidential campaign. Why would he risk everything for sex with a prostitute? It made no sense to Rafe.

  “Go on,” he encouraged her. “What happened then?”

  Sara described how Edwin had asked her to drive Colette home, and how he had offered her money and requested that she keep the incident a secret.

  “I refused the money, but I couldn’t just leave Colette there,” Sara said. “So I drove her home and then found the planner on the floor of my car the next morning. I went back to where I had dropped her off, but was told that nobody lives there who fits her description.”

  Rafe pulled a second beer from the refrigerator and opened it. He handed it to Sara before taking a long swallow from his own bottle. He found it hard to believe that the incident might have endangered Sara’s life, but he couldn’t discount the possibility that Edwin Zachary was trying to silence her, especially since she had refused to accept his money. It would have been simple enough for him to write down her license-plate number and then send someone after her.

  “Is that everything?” he asked grimly. She hesitated, and he could see that she was debating on whether or not to share more with him. “C’mon, Sara. Spill.”

  “There’s a phone number in the back of the planner, so I dialed it, but it didn’t belong to Colette. I spoke with a woman named Juliet who said she runs a business that makes fantasies come true.”

  Rafe snorted. “I bet.”

  “Of course she swore that her employees—for lack of a better word—are prohibited from having sex with their clients. She insisted that if they do, then it’s consensual and has nothing to do with the Glass Slipper Club. I mean, had nothing to do with the club.”

  Rafe made a grunting sound. “What do you mean, ‘had nothing to do with the club’?”

  “Juliet told me that she thinks the Feds are watching her and she’s leaving the country for a while. The club apparently isn’t in operation anymore.”

  Everything fell into place for Rafe. There was no question in his mind that Sara’s life was in danger. The only remaining question was whether Edwin Zachary was behind it. The only other person who might have a motive to remove Sara from the picture was Juliet, especially if she knew that Sara was a journalist and could potentially expose her to the world.

  Rafe recalled what had happened the last time the press had exposed a Washington madam; she had been found hanging by her neck. Juliet might feel threatened enough to decide Sara was too much of a risk. Not only to Juliet’s questionable business, but to her very life.

  7

  SARA WATCHED RAFE OVER the rim of her beer bottle. He looked every inch as dangerous as Lauren had warned. Picking up the black book, he flipped to where Juliet’s phone number was written and pulled out his cell phone.

  “What are you doing?” Sara asked, but was afraid that she already knew. She watched him, wondering if she should tell him about the jump stick that Juliet had given her. He hadn’t mentioned it to her, so she had to assume that he hadn’t found it during his search of her handbag. She’d told him everything else that had happened, so why not share that, as well? Sara knew instinctively that she could trust him—but until she could look at the contents of the memory stick, she decided to keep its existence a secret. What had Juliet called it—an insurance policy? If that was true, it would be better to keep it under wraps until she knew what information it contained.

  Rafe’s black eyes glittered as he held his cell phone to his ear. He regarded her with one finger over his mouth. “Shh. Don’t say a word.” He listened for several moments, but then closed the phone with a frustrated snap. “The number is no longer in service.”

  “That would support what Juliet said about getting out of the business, right?” Sara asked.

  “Possibly.” He considered her for a long moment and then blew out a hard breath. “C’mon, let’s take our pizza into the other room. I’ll start a fire and see if there’s anything good on television.”

  Without waiting for her response, he scooped up two of the pizza boxes and his beer and retreated to the living room, leaving her alone in the kitchen. Sara couldn’t believe that he had actually thought the little black planner belonged to her. Recalling his reaction, butterflies swarmed in her stomach. When he’d demanded to know who she was going to meet, and then recited some of the sexual activities that had been written in the book, only one thought had gone through Sara’s mind—what would it be like to do those things with him? She shivered.

  Picking up her beer, Sara followed Rafe into the living room and sat at one end of the roomy sofa. She watched his easy movements as he lit a fire and then clicked a remote through a series of channels until he finally settled on a James Bond movie. With a questioning glance in her direction, he sat down at the other end of the sofa.

  “I thought you were starving,” he commented, indicating her mostly uneaten slice of pizza.

  “I guess not as much as I thought.”

  Leaning forward, he braced his forearms on his knees and laced his hands together. “Look, I apologize for going through your personal things. I didn’t want to invade your privacy, but something happened today that you need to know about.”

  Sara gave rueful laugh. From the time she had come across the accident with Edwin Zachary, it seemed her life hadn’t been the same. “A lot of things happened today, Rafe. At this point, nothing would surprise me, so let’s hear it.”

  “Do you recall the two men in the alley earlier today? I think they were following you.”

  Sara recalled the sense of being watched while sitting at the café and knew instinctively that Rafe was telling the truth. Someone had been watching her. She’d felt it. But she hadn’t realized she’d been followed back to the alley. Not until Rafe had asked if she knew the men had she even realized anyone was behind her. At the time, she had wondered if they’d intentionally followed her, but then Rafe had kissed her and all thoughts of the two men had vanished. The thought of someone deliberately stalking her, slinking behind her like a hungry wolf, made her feel a little ill. Especially since she knew better. She’d lived in Washington for three years, and she was usually pretty safety-conscious. But it had been daylight, and she’d been so close to the sculpture gardens and the bustle of Independence Avenue, that she’d felt safe.

  Sara nearly groaned aloud. She’d believed him when he’d told her that he’d wanted to kiss her since the night of the c
harity ball. Worse, she’d kissed him back and had even allowed herself to fantasize about what it might be like to do more than just kiss Rafe Delgado. Now she knew he’d kissed her only as a pretext. Maybe he didn’t even find her attractive.

  Sara gave him a rueful look. “So you only came after me to protect me.”

  He shrugged. “I was just going on instinct.”

  The way he watched her, as if he could read her thoughts, was a little unnerving, but Sara found she couldn’t look away. She realized that, up close, his eyes weren’t actually black, but a brown so deep and dark that she could only barely discern his pupils. His lashes were thick and lush for a man, and his mouth… Good Lord, his mouth looked as if it had been sculpted purely for pleasure, and Sara had a nearly overwhelming urge to rub her own against it.

  “You kissed me just in case they were still watching us.” She looked down at his hands, loosely linked between his knees, at the strong wrists and fingers, and the dusting of dark hair along his skin. She gave a huff of self-deprecating laughter. “I’ll give you credit for a realistic performance. You even had me fooled.”

  “Is that what you think?” he finally asked, his voice low and rough. “That I kissed you just for show?”

  “Didn’t you?”

  To her astonishment, he slid a warm hand along her jaw, his fingers tangling in her damp hair. His expression was taut and his eyes glittered hotly.

  “I meant what I said after I kissed you,” he said softly. “I’d been wanting to do that since I first saw you at the ball.”

  As if to emphasize his words, his gaze fastened on her mouth and his head dipped toward hers. Sara was only vaguely aware of moving toward him.

  “I’m sorry,” he muttered, “but I have to…”

  He didn’t finish, and the last thing she saw before her lashes drifted closed, was his delectable mouth descending toward hers.

  His lips were warm and firm and so sinfully talented that Sara gave a small murmur of pleasure and eased closer. Her hands crept to his arms, feeling the hard thrust of muscles beneath the soft fabric of his jersey. He took his time, teasing and tasting her, until Sara slid her hands upward, over the slope of his shoulders until she encountered the hot, satiny skin at the nape of his neck.